


Lip Service

by mindy_makru_tutu



Series: The One Where Liz is Late [1]
Category: 30 Rock
Genre: F/M, Kinda AU, Office Sex, Pregnant Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-02
Updated: 2009-09-02
Packaged: 2019-08-28 00:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16713100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindy_makru_tutu/pseuds/mindy_makru_tutu
Summary: Liz has a need, Jack has the talent.





	Lip Service

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda an AU for "Cooter" in which Liz does fall pregnant with Dennis Duffy's baby and Jack has to help her deal with some aspects of her pregnancy. Basic idea stolen from a "Friends" episode called "The One Where Rachel is Late".

Liz’s only greeting to him as she waddles through the door is a loud, irritated groan.

“Good afternoon, Lemon,” Jack replies from behind his desk: “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I hate men,” she responds darkly.

“I see,” he says, rising and heading towards her.

“They kicked me out of the writer’s room,” she adds with a cross pout.

“I can’t imagine why,” he replies as he takes her elbow and leads her to the couch: “You’ve been such an enchanting ray of sunshine lately.”

“I’m six days overdue,” she mutters as she lowers her pregnant self to the seat: “I can be whatever the hell I damn-well want.”

“Of course you can.” Jack lets go of her elbow once she is seated: “I wouldn’t dare argue with you in this condition. But shouldn’t you be at home enjoying your maternity leave, instead of torturing your already castrated staff with your ill-humor?”

“I came for the air conditioning,” she huffs: “not the company.” She closes her eyes as she leans back against the couch and spreads her arms over the back of it: “New York heat sucks. And I have my own personal heatwave going on right now.”

“I see that,” he murmurs, eyeing the slight sheen to her features, the rise and fall of her breast.

He goes to his drink tray, pulls a fresh sparkling water out of the mini-bar and pours it. He never used to keep sparkling water in his fridge before Lemon became pregnant. Now, it’s the only thing he must have. The one day that Jonathan forgot to restock it, disaster struck. Or rather, Hurricane Lemon did, as she’d been dubbed by her cowering crew.

“So,” he says as he heads back towards her and holds out the glass: “No sign of little Lemon junior, then?”

She cracks open her eyes and glares at him. “What a dumb thing to say.”

“Did the doctor have any advice?” he asks, watching her down the water in one go.

“She gave me this tea that’s supposed to induce labor,” she replies, her speech slightly slurred with lethargy: “It was gross.” She burps and hands him the glass. “I had eight of them.”

“And?”

“Na-da.”

Jack heads back to get her another drink. “Anything else?”

“Spicy food helps, apparently,” she goes on, shifting uncomfortably on the leather: “So Frank found me the hottest taco on the planet.”

“That’s nice of him,” he offers over his shoulder.

She humphs loudly. “I think he just wanted to shut me up.”

As he walks back towards her with her second drink, Liz is attempting to lift her feet onto the coffee table. She grunts, barely able to get one off the ground. Jack bends down to lift one foot, then the other to the table. He hands her the drink then sits on the table himself, takes the flip-flop off her foot and starts massaging her innersole.

She sips at her water, then drops her head back again: “Nothing’s working, Jack. Nothing. Why won’t he come out?”

“I don’t know,” he says softly: “I wish I did.”

“Fat lot of good you are,” she mumbles. All the irritation has left her voice though and she just sounds tired.

He burrows his thumb into her foot, making her knee retract a little and her body tense: “Sorry,” he murmurs, smoothing his palm up over her calf as she relaxes again.

Her feet are swollen, she hasn’t been able to get them into actual shoes for weeks. Her belly rises between them, her transformed body swathed in only a simple white cotton dress with buttons down the front. Although not unattractive, it has the air of a 1960’s housecoat, just a little bit. But whatever interest Lemon previously had in fashion quickly went out the window soon after she found out she was pregnant with Dennis Duffy’s baby.

In fact, everything changed for her. Overnight, her priorities became widely different. After the shock passed, she was happy. And Jack was happy for her, as well as determined to be there for her every step of the way.

When she first sprung the news on him in her usual haphazard style, there was a moment of panic that rose in his chest, owing to one memorable evening when they got a little too drunk and ended up in his bed. Soon after it, he’d been on a plane to DC, not knowing whether he’d be back. When Liz saw his expression, she quickly assured him that he was not the father of her child. Which prompted another feeling to rise in his chest. One that, if he was not mistaken, felt a little like disappointment.

Even inebriated he’d had enough sense to use protection. Dennis Duffy apparently had not. And Lemon had skipped one too many birth control pills, making him the lucky father of her child. In fact, according to the math, she was already pregnant when they’d slept together, making Jack the last man she’d been with.

Needless to say, Dennis was ecstatic, responding to the news by going down on one knee and offering to marry her. To which Liz gave an emphatic refusal. Jack knows all this because he was there to see it. He’d been psyching her up to tell Dennis when the man himself sauntered into her office, prompting her to just blurt out the unspeakable truth right then and there.

It was subsequently agreed upon that Dennis would be allowed in the child’s life as long as he kept a respectful distance at all times and never, _ever_ proposed to her or touched her or _tried_ to touch again. He would also get no say at all in the baby’s name. Or clothing. Or schooling. Or diet. Or haircut. And with that settled, Liz began to enjoy her pregnancy. And Jack began to watch her bloom.

Knowing all this, it is with some trepidation that Jack suggests: “What about Dennis?”

Her head snaps up, her eyes narrow violently: “Don’t mention that name.”

“I apologize,” he responds quickly.

“I mean, come on, Jack,” she whines, her foot tensing in his lap: “Do I really look like I’m in the mood to hear that man’s name?”

Jack protects his crotch and wags his head. “No, you do not.”

“I hate him,” she grunts before taking a gulp of water and letting her head loll back once more. “What about him?” she mutters after a pause.

Jack clears his throat as he removes her other flip-flop and begins massaging her other foot: “Well, Lemon, even I am aware with my limited experience in this field, that….certain stimulation…can help move things along.”

She groans lowly although he’s not sure whether it’s from his ministrations or from sheer frustration: “Jack, if you mean sex, just say sex.”

“I mean sex, Lemon,” he replies dutifully, waiting for her to explode again: “If you’re desperate--”

“I am _not that_ desperate,” she interjects, pointing at her body with both her hands: “Dennis Duffy does not get to touch this again, Jack. Never ever. Are we clear on that?”

“Absolutely.”

“This baby can stay inside me another nine months before I ask that creep to even come near my light bulbs again.”

“Understood.”

She groans again and this time he’s pretty sure he caused it. She rests her glass on her big belly, her knees falling further apart as she relaxes under his touch. The white dress is only knee-length and he can’t help but see a little way up it, a little glimpse of her bare inner thighs. Jack averts his eyes and continues kneading her in time to her moans.

“Just how desperate are you, Lemon?” he asks, his voice unintentionally husky.

“I’d do just about anything, at this point,” she murmurs wearily: “Just…not ever Dennis.”

“I can understand that,” he replies with all due caution: “but Dennis is not the only sexual partner you have had in the last year or so. If you wanted to go down that road…there is…another option.”

Liz snorts, her whole body jolting with it: “The only other person I’ve slept with is--”

His hand runs up her leg again.

She opens her eyes to look at him. “You….can’t…be serious.”

“Why not?”

She furrows her brow at him: “I thought we agreed…that night was a mistake.”

Jack smiles in a way he hopes puts her at ease: “I’m not suggesting we start something. I merely wish to be of service to you. You have a need, I have a talent. I am very adept at stimulating women -- as you might remember. If I recall I made you--”

“Alright, alright!” She waves a hand in the air: “That’s enough, thank you.”

He retracts his hands from her feet. “If you say so.”

She frowns peevishly. “No. Enough talking. About that night. That--” she waves at her foot, at his hands: “ _that_ you can keep doing.”

Jack resumes his attentions with a small smile. “Listen, Lemon. You are my friend. Not only do I have the capability and responsibility to help you, I also have the time and the desire to do so.”

“Jack, you can’t actually….” she laughs nervously before finishing: “… _want_ to do this.”

He blinks at her: “Why can’t I?”

She holds her hands at her sides then drops them against the leather: “I’m a whale, Jack. A sweaty, frustrated, puffed up whale. I haven’t shaved in weeks, I haven’t worn make-up in longer. I can barely move, let alone construct a civil sentence. I’d probably end up insulting you right in the middle of you doing stuff to me.”

“Well,” he answers smoothly: “That would certainly serve as an amusing reminder of our first time together.”

She rolls her eyes. “Hilarious, Jack. You’re meant to be the sensible one here, remember? _I’m_ the funny one.”

“Not right now, you’re not,” he mumbles under his breath.

Her gaze narrows. “What?”

“Liz--” he continues, lips lifting in one corner: “may I tell you something?”

She eyes him askance: “Sure, okay. But only if you keep doin’ what you’re doin’ down there.”

He scans her face for a moment before admitting: “I’ve watched you, over the last few months, blossom and change, and…I’ve kept my hands to myself. Haven’t I?”

“You have.” She bobs her head, looking down at her engorged stomach: “Most people want to feel me up all the time. Even strangers on the street come up and do it. Ask me all these personal questions while they rub my tummy like I’m a magic lamp or something.”

“Well. It’s been difficult for me,” he says simply: “Very difficult…seeing you and not touching you.”

She blinks at him.

He goes on, attempting to explain: “I’ve never…been with a pregnant woman. Or been close to anyone who was expecting. I haven’t watched someone go through this, day by day. It’s beautiful, Lemon. You’re…beautiful.”

She regards him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then she clenches her jaw and shakes her head. “No. You can’t say crap like that to a pregnant lady. It’s not fair, Jack. I will cry, I warn you. The mood swings right now are really, _really_ weird. And I have no control over them, so--”

He lowers her heels to the table and shifts onto the couch beside her. “I want to do this for you. Will you let me do this for you?”

Her eyes cut to one side then back to his: “What? Here? Now?”

“I don’t see why not.” His eyes skate over her, glowing softly: “Perhaps we can start here, try a little light nipple stimulation. If Baby Lemon doesn’t respond -- and we both agree -- then we can consider taking this back to your place. How’s that sound?”

She swallows hard, clearly wavering. “I should warn you, Jack, if we…do this, the thing is…I might….really…really like it.”

He raises his brows. “S’that so?”

“A lot,” she adds, red-faced: “Like… _a lot_ a lot.”

He smirks. “More than the first time?”

She nods. “Even…more…than that.”

“Why so, Lemon?” he murmurs, after a beat.

She takes in a shuddery breath and looks down at herself. “Apart from being regularly rubbed on the street by strangers, I…haven’t been touched in a ridiculously long time, Jack – well, you remember…Anyhow, normally that would not faze me, right? But with all these hormones….not only am I super cranky all the time, I’m like…humoungously horny, and have been for months. I’m all…banked-up in here, and I’m not too sure what would happen if I-- if we…did…that.”

“Well, then,” he replies levelly: “that is all the more reason for us to proceed.” He leans in and places a kiss in the center of her chest. “You agree?”

When he pulls back, she looks at him with wide eyes and mutters falteringly: “I don’t have to…move or…do anything…do I?”

“You don’t have to do a thing,” he replies and curls a hand over her belly: “Just relax and enjoy.”

She looks down, they both look down at his hand on her. He’s only touched her there a few times as she grew, and never lingeringly. He always did it as if checking her progress, giving a small, pleased nod but never much more than that. It always seemed to come as a surprise to her when he reached out and did it. It was always slightly awkward. Yet it also occurred to them both how odd it was that most of the time they just ignored her pregnant state. Until it came time to discuss obstetricians and baby furniture and maternity leave, at which point, Jack was full of advice. He’d done enough research for the both of them.

For the first time, he moves his hand around the circumference of her, slowly, reverently, dipping either side of her, skating over her bellybutton, up close to her breasts and down near her apex. His face looks fascinated, intrigued, moved. He keeps stroking her as he tucks his face against her neck and kisses her once, his breath hot, his lips soft, slow. She moans at the slightest graze of his lips on her heated skin, her entire body going limp. Her head falls back again as Jack begins to pepper her neck with light kisses.

Her chest is already rising and falling heavily when he lowers his mouth to it, her enlarged breasts heaving. His hands drifts up to free them, slipping the big buttons from their holes one at a time. He kisses what he reveals, drawing her scent into his lungs as he moves lower. The dress unbuttons all the way down but he leaves one button fastened over her lap. The rest of her is exposed to him, including her belly and the top of her stretched-to-the-limit panties.

He takes the glass from her hand, glides the condensation from it over her forehead, touches it to the base of her throat, the dip of her cleavage then puts it on the coffee table. She watches his hand slip up her belly again, this time on her naked skin. He touches her taut skin like it’s the finest china, like he doesn’t want to disturb what lies inside. He looks at her baby bump like it’s something he can’t quite fathom -- but wants to. And like he’s been secretly curious about it for months upon months.

The bra she wears thankfully fastens in front, so he unhooks the clasp, unpeels her and leaves the two cups hanging ether side of her chest. His eyes lift to hers, seeking silent permission. And when he sees it, however hesitant, his mouth descends, sucking one nipple into his mouth. Liz responds immediately, pressing towards him with what little movement and energy she has. One of her hands lifts to his hair, her fingers delving deep as he sucks, kisses, licks, bites her nipples for long, endless minutes.

His hand drifts over her belly or teases one breast while his mouth is occupied on the other. All there is, apart from that, is the sound of her breath and the wet noises he’s making with his mouth. He’s never done this as an act unto itself. He’s always enjoyed it, never viewed it as a chore or a means to an end, and he does recall enjoying Lemon’s breasts the last and only other time he had her naked. But her breasts are different now, fuller, heavier, riper. She is different and doing this to her, without the pressure or prospect of imminent intercourse, is something he enjoys so much more than he ever considered he would.

There is something so pure about it, so intimate, so erotic. He never imagined he could spend so much time just on a woman’s breast, but time passes and passes and passes, his mouth on her skin, his hands re-exploring her new body, and neither of them seems to want to stop. Especially when he presses her breasts together with his palms, cupping her firmly as he sucks both turgid nipples into his mouth, running his tongue over their sensitive tips. Liz groans in a way he’s never heard before in his entire life. She lets loose a sound so needy, so undisguised in its relish that he can barely believe he created it. With just his mouth, his tongue. His lips.

He is growing hard in his pants and he can smell the arousal that must be pooling in her nether lips. And while he knows nothing can or should be done about his own arousal, he does feel very strongly that something should be done about hers. He doesn’t miss grazing her belly again with his fingertips as he drops one hand between her legs and under her panties. She gasps sharply when he strokes through her wetness.

His lips venture away from her breast, leaving her nipples puckered and her flesh ruddy with blood. His mouth is open as he moves it up her neck, over her chin to cover hers. She startles momentarily, to find his mouth on hers, then kisses him back. At first, tentative, then suddenly voracious. She pushes her mouth against his, pressing him back into the couch. His arm curls about her shoulder, his hand in her messy, curly hair.

Her stomach is resting against him as his fingers start to move over her. When he comes near her clit, she lets out a long moan, lips softening momentarily. All it will take is for him to touch her there directly and he’s sure she will come, instantly and hard. But as soon as she comes, she will stop kissing him so he spends a few minutes just teasing either side of her little bundle of nerves as he slips his tongue into her mouth and tastes her.

Despite this not being about him, she has a hand on him, wandering over his chest. He both wants it to go lower and doesn’t. Couldn’t stand it. She doesn’t seem to know whether to touch him properly either. But she does seem to be enjoying just his chest, she opens one button and puts her hand inside his shirt. And as she does, something of that long ago drunken evening floats back to him. How uncertain she’d been. How uncertain he’d been. How much he’d wanted her. How much he didn’t ever want to lose her. How much had been left so stupidly unsaid.

“Jack…” she whispers, breaking the contact of their mouths. She tucks her head against his shoulder, her voice faint and desperate: “Please…”

He looks down at her, her eyes closed, her cheeks red and shining. Her hand claws at him under his shirt. Her naked breasts press into his shirt. He moves his finger to her clit, exposes it fully to his touch then starts to circle it softly with her moisture.

She nods against his shoulder: “Yes...”

He keeps going, one single finger on her clit and nothing more. He kisses her damp forehead, whispers her name.

“Yes…” she says again and he can hear how she’s needed this. He can hear how it’s building so perfectly, so exquisitely within her. Her mouth opens, soundless for a moment before a soft, satisfied moan escapes on her breath. He keeps circling her as she comes, rocking against him, her breath coming out in amazed pants.

It’s awhile before she looks up at him, her head still on his shoulder, those intense brown eyes shining with spent erotic energy. His hand is still between her limp legs. Her hand is still trapped in his shirt. The sun has started to set outside, leaving his office in sudden half-darkness. Whatever light does come in is golden and mellow. It feels like they could be the only two people in the building, the city.

“My place?” she whispers after a long, long moment.

He gives a little nod, eyes fixed on her face: “Absolutely.”

END.


End file.
